


blunt little instrument

by myaimistrue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Angst, Confrontations, Fix-It of Sorts, Heaven, Homophobia, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, John should not be in Dean and Sam's heaven, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Post-Finale, discussions of abuse and neglect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28756923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myaimistrue/pseuds/myaimistrue
Summary: “We don’t have to do this.”“Yeah, we do.” Because he’s been in Heaven for either two weeks or two years at this point, because John Winchester doesn’t like to wait, because this is paradise, but Dean’s never going to be able to relax completely until this conversation is done and over with.Or, Dean and Cas go to see John.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 34
Kudos: 397





	blunt little instrument

**Author's Note:**

> The finale was awful on many levels, but making John and Mary live together down the street from Dean and Sam was so fucked. This is my attempt to make some sense of that while still remaining mostly canon-compliant.
> 
> Also, this completely disregards Lebanon (14x13). In this story, John hasn't spoken to Dean or seen him at all since his death.

Dean stands at his father’s front door and feels his stomach turn. He knows this has to happen, but fuck if it doesn’t feel like he’s walking himself and Cas into some kind of epic cosmic trap, like John Winchester’s going to pump them both full of rock salt as soon as they walk in—and if he’s being honest, if this whole thing goes really poorly, it could end that way. It’s probably good he’s already dead and Cas is immortal.

Beside him, Cas senses the whirlwind of anxiety in Dean’s brain, like he always does. He places one hand on Dean’s shoulder, and the warmth and weight of it alone alleviates some of what he’s feeling. “We don’t have to do this.”

“Yeah, we do.” Because he’s been in Heaven for either two weeks or two years at this point, because John Winchester doesn’t like to wait, because this is paradise, but Dean’s never going to be able to relax completely until this conversation is done and over with.

It’s always seemed a little wrong, to him, that his dad’s here in Heaven with him. Dean’s not a great guy, hasn’t always done the right thing, but he’d always figured that if he did get to Heaven, he wouldn’t have to worry about shit like fucked-up family dynamics.

When they found out, Cas apologized profusely to both him and Sam, who was maybe more pissed about Dad’s presence than Dean. He explained that Jack thought having their father around would make them more comfortable and had moved him into their Heaven without asking first.

“But don’t worry. I can make it so he’s not an issue,” Cas said, real fucking ominously. “I’ll do it now.”

“Don’t.” Sam stopped him. “I have some things to say to him. It’ll be good to do that first, and then… he can go.”

Dean thought he was insane for that, but whatever. Sam was always ready to fight with Dad—why would that change in the afterlife?

But then he’d come back from Dad’s house, looking tired but different. Almost relaxed, or something.

“I tried to keep it civil, but you know how Dad is,” Sam said. “He argued with me the whole time, and we didn’t part on good terms but… Jesus, Dean, it was good to finally say some of that to him. Like closure, almost.” He gave him the classic  _ I know what I’m talking about  _ look. “You should do it. Introduce him to Cas, and tell him about the whole thing. I think it would be good for you.”

Dean tried to fight the urge to roll his eyes when Sam said that. But the idea of seeing his dad again, of finally being himself in front of him, was tempting. And Sam kept pressing him, kept saying shit like “moving on” and “breaking the cycle,” so now he’s here at Dad’s front door. Now he’s actually going through with it.

“Would you like me to knock?” Cas says gently.

“No. No, I got it.” Dean braces himself. He can do this. He defeated  _ God _ —one long-dead asshole is nothing. He knocks three times on the door, clear and firm.

There’s footsteps on the other side of the door, then the sound of about eight million latches and locks coming undone one by one. Dean almost wants to laugh—leave it to his dad to keep locks on his door in Heaven—but then the door opens, and all the breath exits his chest.

John Winchester looks almost the same as the day he died: dark circles under his eyes, salt-and-pepper scruff, the hard lines of his face arranged in a steely expression. For a brief moment, Dean’s a teenager in a shitty motel room again, watching every movement of his silent father, trying to figure out if the hunt went well or not, if tonight was gonna be a good one or a bad one, if John would be knocking back one beer or six. It used to be that Dean could tell in the first few minutes after his dad walked in the door, but he’s way out of practice now, and it immediately makes him feel unsettled. Like he brought a knife to a gunfight.

But then, his dad actually half-smiles, and pulls Dean into a hug. It’s a lot of clapping on the back and little actual contact, but it’s still a hug from his father. Relief blooms in his chest. “Hey there, kid.”

He smells just like he always did, cigarettes and gunpowder and cheap deodorant. Maybe it’s sick, considering everything that’s happened, but fuck if some part of Dean hasn’t missed him. “Hey, Dad.”

John pulls away but keeps his hands on Dean’s arms, eyes searching his son, looking for changes, for something wrong, for God only knows. Dean’s familiar with this routine. Without thinking, he straightens his back.

“Well,” Dad finally says, but he’s still smiling, sort of, like the whole moment is an inside joke between him and Dean. “You got old.”

Dean laughs, but half of it is stuck in his throat. “Uh, yeah. Not as old as I wanted, but y’know.”

“I do. Life of a hunter, huh?” Dad claps him once on the shoulder, then drops his arms. Out of character friendliness aside, he’s still eyeing Dean carefully, like he’s half-expecting to see something he doesn’t like. “It’s good to see you, Dean.”

“Yeah,” He says. “It’s good to see you too, Dad.”

Then, John looks over at Cas like he’s just noticing he’s there; frankly, Dean had kind of forgotten he was there himself—the guy has always had a talent for standing very still and scaring the shit out of Dean whenever he makes his presence known. “And who’s this?”

Dean looks over at Cas. His eyes are warm, careful, and Dean feels some of the tension in his shoulders dissipate just looking at him. “This is Cas.” He looks back to his dad, and the immediate suspicion in his expression brings all the tension right back. “He’s my—uh, he’s—he’s… Cas.”

Well said, asshole.

John raises an eyebrow at the blabbering, but sticks out his hand. “You’re the angel, right? Sam told me about you.”

“I’m the angel,” Cas confirms. He shakes John’s hand firmly, and Dean looks between them both, feeling a little bit like this is the worst idea he’s ever had. Dammit, why does he ever listen to Sam? “It’s nice to finally meet you, John. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Have you?” John’s expression is neutral, but Dean spent the first half of his life figuring out that man’s moods, and it’s clear that he’s already not a fan of Cas. Great. “I’ve heard a lot about you too. Sam said you were all close. Said you saved their lives more than a few times.”

“I have.” Cas glances over at Dean, and smiles fondly. “But they’ve saved me too.”

“Well, ain’t that great?” John smiles too, and it’s an empty thing, the turn of his lip and the dark flash in his eyes all too familiar. “Now, we’re wasting daylight out here. Come inside.”

He doesn’t wait for them, just disappears down the hallway and leaves the door open behind him. That’s Dad alright—if you can’t keep up, you get left behind.

“Are you alright?” Cas whispers as they go inside. 

“Yeah,” Dean mutters. He doesn’t know what else to say about it. He loves Dad, he does, but he also hates the son of a bitch, and now he’s about to tell him he’s dating an angel, who, by the way, has a dick. He doesn’t think there’s really a way to be okay about all of that shit. “Sorry, I know he’s—”

“Don’t apologize.” Cas’s voice is firm. “Not for him.”

Well, that shuts Dean up.

The floorboards creak beneath them as they walk into the living room, and the sound of it is making this experience even more unsettling than it already is. The room is as dusty and old as the rest of the place, covered with mounted guns and various sigils. Dean wonders if his dad even realizes there aren’t any monsters out to gank him in Heaven.

It doesn’t even look like anybody really lives here. The only thing that gives the dark room any personality is a framed picture on a table beside the couch, one that Dean’s never seen before. It’s an old one, faded into sepia by age, and it’s of all four Winchesters. Mary’s in a hospital bed holding baby Sammy, glowing with the joy of it, and John is next to her, Dean bundled in his arms. All of them look so ridiculously happy it’s almost obnoxious.

“It’s a good picture, huh?” Dad’s reappeared, holding three beers. It throws Dean off that he didn’t notice his presence until he started speaking; he used to be able to sense his dad before he ever even entered a room. 

Dean takes the beer from him. It’s a brand he’s never liked, but it was always Dad’s favorite—guess some things don’t change. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“Didn’t make it out of the fire.” John takes a swig of his beer, and it’s clear that avenue of conversation is closed, which is fine by Dean. He knows better than to bring any of that up with his dad, especially now, since Mom isn’t living with him. (She has a small yellow house in the middle of nowhere, far from everyone, and seems to really like it that way). “Sit down. We’ve got catching up to do.”

Coming out of anybody else’s mouth, that sentence might sound warm—kind, even. Coming out of John’s mouth, it sounds like a warning.

So Dean and Cas sit side-by-side on the couch, careful to leave an acceptable amount of space between them, and John sits in an ugly plaid armchair across from them. The whole thing feels uncomfortably like it’s about to be an interrogation. Again, Dean wants to kick his own ass for letting this happen.

“So.” John looks between them both, and for a brief and wildly unnerving moment, Dean thinks he’s about to just ask if they’re fucking or something—it wouldn’t be the most shocking thing his father ever did. “What’d I miss? How ya been, Dean?”

He exchanges a look with Cas, and they both laugh a little. “Uh, well, it’s been pretty crazy,” Dean says. “Saved the world a couple times, stopped the apocalypse more than once, killed a bunch of monsters… about what you’d expect.”

Dad nods approvingly. “Sam filled me in on a lot of it. Sounds like you two grew up to be the kind of hunters I always trained you to be.”

Beside him, Cas stiffens slightly, but says nothing. Dean just tries for a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I think we turned out alright.”

“And you—” John points right at Cas, and the mistrust is dripping off of his words. “You ever hunted?”

Cas levels his eyes right into John’s, and holy shit. As a kid, even in his early twenties, Dean feared almost nothing more than holding his dad’s gaze when he was at all unhappy, and now here’s Cas, looking right down the barrel of John’s disdain and refusing to break eye contact. Dean loves him for it. “Yes. Sam and Dean were great teachers.”

“Right.” Dad seems like he’s almost thrown off by Cas’s intensity and turns his attention back to Dean. “Anyway. What else?” He smirks then, like they’re joking, like this is a fun conversation for everybody, ha-fucking-ha. “Still hooking up with truck stop skanks?”

Dean actually does laugh, and it comes out too loud. Dad and Cas both have their eyes on him, watching him expectantly, and fuck if that isn’t weird as hell. He looks between them. Fuck it. Looks like they’re diving right in. “Uh, no. No, actually, I kind of wanted to talk to you about that.”

“What? You knock some girl up?”

In the stress of the moment, Dean almost laughs again. Pull it together,  dude. “No. It’s about…” He almost can’t say it. He almost can’t say it, but he thinks of Sam telling him that he needs closure, he thinks of his younger self sitting shotgun in Baby, promising himself that he someday he’d get himself and Sam the fuck out from under their father’s thumb, thinks of Dad walking into the motel room to see him and Lee with their hands touching, the way he’d reacted. “It’s about Cas.”

John’s expression is stony. Great sign. “What do you mean?”

“He’s my…” Dean looks over at Cas, and he wants to take his hand more than anything, but he figures it’ll be better not to rub it in Dad’s face quite yet. Cas gives him a small smile anyway. “We’re together. Cas and I are together.”

The silence after _ that _ one is fucking awful. Dad’s expression does not change, gives nothing away—not that Dean thought it would. And then, finally, Dad flatly says, “You’re together.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean says, even though it wasn’t a question.

“Like what?” John looks between them both, and the contempt in his voice is apparent as he says. “Boyfriends?”

Cas lifts his chin, and there’s a shift in the air, a sudden electricity. Dean can feel his wings rustling out around them both. “No. Like husbands.” 

“Is that so?” Dad narrows his eyes at Cas, and even though Cas could rip him apart in two seconds, there’s still that same protective urge rising up in Dean, that instinct to defend from his father’s anger. “Well, that’s not how I raised my son.”

“You raised your son to be a soldier,” Cas says fiercely.

John sets his beer down and leans forward. His voice is a thunderclap. “I sure as hell did. And he grew up to be a goddamn hero.”

Cas leans forward too, and all of his terrifying angelic might goes into what he says next. Dean swears that his eyes almost glow. “He did that in spite of you, John Winchester. Not because of you.”

John makes a move like he’s going to stand up and escalate; Dean already knows how that would go, and as much as he’d love to see Cas kick his dad’s ass, it feels like he should probably intervene. So he lets the planning and preparation he did with Sam for this exact moment kick in.

“Dad, listen to me,” He says firmly. “I’m not looking for your approval, alright? I’m introducing you to someone important to me. That’s all.”

“Important to you…” John shakes his head, and takes a long sip of his beer. “What happened, Dean?”

“What?”

“When I died, you knew who you were. You were a hunter, and a damn good one at that. You were man’s man, you hustled pool and you got into fights and you picked up women.” There’s something like anguish on his face as he says, “You knew your place in the world. And now, you’re… I don’t know who the hell you are.”

And there it is. Even now, even after being dead for over a decade, Dad still expects Dean to be this impossible person. He expects Dean to be the big brother and the loving mother and the man’s man and the dutiful son, and guess what? Dean knows who the fuck he is now, and it’s not that. He’s done trying to reach impossible expectations. 

“Cas?” Beside him, the angel is sitting perfectly still. Dean can  _ feel _ his grace bubbling just under his skin, the barely controlled anger. “Can you give us a minute?”

Cas looks at him, eyes still blazing, and Dean gives him what he hopes is a reassuring smile bit is probably more like a grimace. Cas hesitates, and for a moment, Dean thinks he’s not going to go anywhere, but then he stands up. “I’ll be outside.” He casts one last frightening look at John before he leaves the room.

Dad sighs, and gives Dean a look like,  _ finally that guy’s gone.  _ “Listen, I know that—”

“Enough, Dad.” Dean thinks they’re both taken aback by the strength of his voice, the finality of it. “I’m going to talk now, and you’re going to listen to me. Alright?”

His eyes flash. “Boy, you don’t—”

“ _ Enough. _ ” They look at one another, and for once in his goddamn life (afterlife?), Dean doesn’t break eye contact with his father. “You don’t know me anymore, Dad. That kid you’re talking about… he wasn’t me.” He sighs. “I spent the first half of my life trying to please you, trying to  _ be  _ you, and fuck, I guess I’m happy you liked that version of your son. But that’s not me.” Every word feels like a fight to get it out, but he’s saying it. Jesus, he’s saying this right to Dad’s face. “I grew the hell up. I figured out what I wanted and who I was, and it wasn’t fucking easy, but I did it. You can take it or you can leave it, but I’m not going to pretend to be anything else to make you happy.”

There’s a long moment where neither of them says anything. If Dean was a teenager, he’d be waiting for the smack across the face that always came after backtalk like this. Part of him thinks it’s coming anyway, but he’s not worried—he’s old enough to fight back now.

And then, John turns his head to look out the window. Birds are chirping, bright sunshine beaming, the trees rustling in the breeze. It’s perfect Heaven weather. “I know it wasn’t easy,” He finally says, voice tight, “how you grew up.” 

Well, that wasn’t what Dean was expecting. He opens his mouth to respond but comes up empty. What can he say?  _ Yeah, my childhood fucking sucked.  _ Somehow, he thinks that wouldn’t go over well. 

“I put a lot on you.” Dad’s still looking away. With the sunlight hitting his face, he looks younger. “You had to do more than most kids, more than your brother. And I… I’m sorry it had to be that way.”

Dean stares at him. “What?”

John clears his throat, and looks back at Dean with a hard expression. “I wish your childhood didn’t have to be so hard, but it did. That’s all I’m trying to say.”

And if this whole conversation wasn’t reopening all those old wounds already, that drags a knife right through them. 

“My childhood  _ didn’t _ have to be so hard.” Dean hisses. He hates the rawness in his voice, but can’t stop it. “ _ You  _ made it what it was.  _ You _ dragged us all over the damn country,  _ you  _ left me to take care of Sam,  _ you  _ made our entire lives about getting fucking revenge.”

“Do you think I wanted to do that?” John points his finger right at Dean, punctuating each word with a jab. “I had no other choice but to make you and your brother into weapons so that you could protect yourselves, and guess what? That saved your lives. Without me, you’d’ve been up here a whole lot sooner.”

And then, out of nowhere, Dean thinks of Jack. He thinks of pointing a gun at him, then lowering it. He thinks of Dad, telling him that Sam had to die, and how much hearing that had hurt. When Dean looks at his father now, he doesn’t feel anything but anger.

“There’s always a choice, Dad. And what you put on Sam and me…” He shakes his head and stands up. “You don’t like who I am now, I’m sorry. But you don’t control me anymore. I’ve got my own family, my own life, and I’m  _ finally _ fucking happy. If you ever wanna be part of that, you better get used to it.”

Dad just looks at him with a guarded expression. Some part of Dean, the same one that spent so much time chasing after any ounce of approval from him, aches for him to say something, say  _ anything _ . But there’s nothing. Like always, there’s nothing. 

“Fine,” Dean says. He turns away, and it feels good to do it, but fuck if he doesn’t have the childish urge to cry. “Fine, I’m gonna go. We’re done here.”

And then he walks out. For once, Dean is the one who has the last word in an argument with his father, and beneath the fucked-up wreckage of feelings in his chest, there’s a sense of victory. Finally, he had the last word.

When Dean steps outside into the not-too-warm, not-too-cool, heavenly afternoon, Cas is leaning against the Impala, watching a squirrel scurry around the scrubby grass of Dad’s yard with interest. Dean loves him so much at that moment that it almost physically hurts.

Cas doesn’t even notice Dean until he’s standing right next to him, and then he’s immediately concerned, a hand on his shoulder and blue eyes searching his face. “Are you alright? What happened?”

Dean smirks at him. It falls flat, but he does it anyway. “What, you weren’t listening in?”

“Of course not,” Cas says seriously. “I thought you’d prefer it if I didn’t smite your father.”

That shocks a laugh right out of Dean, and Cas gives him a small smile. “Yeah. Yeah, that would’ve made a shitty conversation a lot shittier.”

Cas is right back in concerned husband mode. “So it didn’t go well?”

“No.” Dean sighs and looks up at the cloudless blue sky. “He basically told me I’d changed into somebody he didn’t recognize. Asshole.” He looks back at Cas. “I mean, he’s my dad. I’m not ready to just cut him out of my life forever. But maybe… I don’t know, maybe I need to.” He swallows hard. “It’s time. It’s time for him to go.”

“I understand.” Cas looks at the cabin, and again, Dean feels the thrum of his power around them. “Are you sure?”

“What’s going to happen?” He’s not sure if he wants to know, but a morbid curiosity makes him ask. He’s picturing all kinds of creepy shit. “I mean, he can’t die again. Right?”

“Time is fluid here, as you know,” Cas says. “I’m going to alter how it passes for him. If in twenty years you and Sam decide you’d like to speak to him again, he won’t have experienced more than a few weeks, maybe a month or two. And if you never do… I can slow time down enough that it won’t matter.”

“Huh.” He isn’t sure he’ll ever get used to this kind of thing. But he thinks about his father, the sneer on his face as he looked at Cas, his refusal to own up to what he’d done, and any reservations Dean had disappear. “Okay. Do it.”

He doesn’t know what he’s expecting. Cas just lifts his hand, holds it pointed at Dad’s cabin, and then drops it. Nothing obvious changes. The squirrel in the yard keeps bolting around. The birds keep chirping. But then Cas turns to look at him and says, “It’s done,” and some invisible pressure on Dean’s chest is lifted.

“Thanks, Cas,” He says quietly. The whole coming out to your dead abusive father thing’s been kind of draining, and he feels a headache coming on.

Cas looks at him worriedly. “I’m sorry that you had to do this.”

“Don’t be.” Dean takes a deep breath and leans back against the Impala. She’s warm from the sunlight beaming down on her—it’s an oddly comforting sensation. “This fucking sucked, but I think I…” He scuffs his boot along the dirt and glances back up at Cas. “I think I needed to say some of that to him. It felt good.”

Cas smiles Dean’s favorite smile, the soft one he only breaks out for a few people in his life, the one that crinkles his eyes so perfectly in the corners. He takes Dean’s hand, and brings it up to his mouth to brush a kiss against his knuckles. Then, still smiling, he says, “So Sam was right?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’m about to hear about that for the next millennia.”

“Probably.” Cas nudges him with one shoulder. “I’m proud of you, y’know.”

“Thanks.” Dean squeezes his hand once, twice, and there. All better, at least for now—when he tells Cas the details, when he and Sam go through it all together, he knows it’ll drag all this up in him again, but that’s not a problem for now. For now, he’s going home.

Dean fishes in his pocket for his keys. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

As they pull away, Dean allows himself one last look at the cabin. He thinks of himself at four, at ten, at sixteen, at twenty-two, always straining to be a  _ man _ , whatever the fuck that means, to be the kind of son his father would be proud of. He glances over at Cas, who’s looking out the window at the beautiful day with an expression like love, and he thinks of Jack, of Sam, of all the people he’s loved in his life, and you know what? Fuck his dad. Dean’s already got everything he needs.

**Author's Note:**

> Healing from an abusive relationship is not an easy process, and it's not something that can happen in one conversation. Dean still has a long way to go toward dealing with and facing John's abuse. But with this, I tried to give him the chance to finally tell his dad who he was, with no shame.
> 
> You can find more of my Supernatural opinions and feelings on my [tumblr!](https://angelwingsdean.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated :)


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